Last October, when I bet on McClintock and you bet on Schwarzenegger, Hugh, your guy blew mine away.

Last night, when I bet on Toomey and you bet on Specter, your guy only just squeaked through.

Which means? Which means that there’s a trend developing here.

Go ahead, Hugh, and tell me what kind of malt you’d like me to send you to settle last night’s bet. But when you get the bottle, don’t open it. That way you can just send it back the next time we bet.